


Turning the Tables

by kinkthatwinked



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dean Winchester Gives Oral Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shower Sex, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-25 04:30:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16654294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinkthatwinked/pseuds/kinkthatwinked
Summary: A simple shower becomes a power play.





	Turning the Tables

All Dean knew for sure was that, as usual, he didn’t start this. He was about to rinse the conditioner out of his hair (shut up) after letting it sit while he shaved his chest (seriously, shut up), when he sensed he wasn’t alone. Even though it could only be one person, Dean automatically went tense. His nearest weapons were in his clothes, piled in the farthest corner from the shower. Regardless of who stood on the other side of the shower curtain, Dean didn’t like being unprepared.

A large hand came around the curtain’s edge, holding a Bowie knife by the spine, handle towards Dean. “It’s just me,” Sam assured him, “but if this will make you feel better …”

“I should cut your ass just for the invasion of privacy,” Dean threatened, with no real heat. “What couldn’t wait until I at least got some clothes on?”

“Well, for starters, I have to pee,” Sam explained, and Dean heard the toilet seat thrown back and Sam’s fly opening almost as verification. Great, Dean thought, now all he could do was imagine Sam hauling his dick out of his pants, cradling it in his hand, probably letting his head fall back and his eyes close like he did sometimes when he really needed to go, or when he was getting blown …

“Aah!” And there was the conditioner running into his eye, stinging like a bitch. Dean was so busy trying to flush out his eye under the shower head that he failed to notice the curtain open and Sam step in behind him. Dean’s hands slammed against the tiled wall when he felt Sam’s hands on his hips. Seriously, what’s hot about nearly making someone slip in the shower and crack open their skull?!

“And also,” Sam continued, “there’s this really hot guy in the shower, and I thought, why am I sitting out here all alone when I could be in there with him?” Sam leaned in to kiss the back of his neck, and Dean realized two things: he could feel Sam’s shirts against his back, which meant Sam hadn’t taken off any of his clothes; and he could also feel Sam’s dick, not blocked by cotton or denim, brushing against his ass, meaning Sam had left his fly wide open and his dick out for easy access, and with the way he was pressing into Dean, Sam could only have one thing in mind.

But Dean wasn’t on board. Don’t get him wrong, there had been many a night when Sam’s toppy side turned Dean the fuck on. Nights of being lifted in Sam’s arms like he weighed nothing, or shoved back onto the bed. Sam barking orders at him, or sometimes not speaking at all, just manhandling Dean’s body into position and making him take it however Sam wanted to give it. But they always started out as equals: both clothed, and armed, and ready to give as good as they got in either a fight or a fuck. Between being surprised in the bathroom, almost condescended to with the knife, groped in the shower, and the only one who was naked, Dean just wasn’t in the mood to be the one on his knees or bent over while Sam didn’t even take off his fucking boots.

Dean turned himself to face Sam, distracting him with a kiss while Dean planned his course of action. Of course Sam’s hands went right to his ass, fingers already spreading his cheeks and moving downward. Dean covered Sam’s hands with his, and held them still. It wasn’t long before Sam broke the kiss, a question in his face, and Dean answered by sinking to his knees.

Yeah, Dean's ultimate goal was to not bottom tonight, but getting Sam worked up with his mouth was just one step along the way. It was actually kind of a shame that Sam’s dick was so big, because he once confessed to Dean that he had only been deep throated by two people his entire life. Fortunately for Sam, Dean was one of those people. Curling his lips over his teeth, Dean moved down Sam’s dick till he felt it bump the back of his throat, then slowly started to bob his head, working his tongue along the underside, changing the angle a little each time, and concentrating on relaxing his throat. Finally, he found the angle that would let Sam slide right past his gagging point, inhaled deep through his nose, and took Sam down to the root.

If there was one thing Dean loved about deep throating Sam, it was the reaction he got. Dean felt Sam’s knees nearly buckle, saw his hands scrabbling against the wall, heard his groans echo off the tiles as Dean began swallowing. Now that Sam was sufficiently distracted, Dean went to work on Sam’s pants, working them down his hips. The wet denim wasn’t exactly cooperative, and Sam was in no position to help, but Dean only needed them down to mid-thigh, anyway, so it didn’t take long. A little blind fumbling at the windowsill produced the same offending conditioner that hurt his eyes earlier. Dean coated his hands with the cream, and started with a very light touch to Sam’s balls. Sam had already been straining to keep his hips still, but he jerked forward a bit at that. Dean swallowed around the thrust and kept going.

The light touch turned into a massage, rolling Sam’s balls in his right hand as he rolled his tongue along Sam’s dick. Dean’s left hand, meanwhile, started teasing Sam’s perineum, and Dean silently congratulated himself as Sam’s moans increased in volume. Just a little more … Dean kept swallowing and rolling, tickling and pressing … and there it was, Sam’s balls trying to tighten up. Letting his breath out in a hum around Sam’s dick, Dean pulled off and admired his handiwork. It was deep pink and straining toward Sam’s stomach, and Dean could taste the precum at the back of his throat.

“W-wh-wha-” Sam stuttered. Dean could tell Sam’s eyes weren’t even pulling focus; he just pointed his head in the general direction of the blowjob he’d been getting. “Why’d you stop?”

“Turn around.” Dean made sure it sounded like an order, but Sam was still dazed, so Dean stood up and heaved Sam’s body around himself. It was all Sam could do to keep his balance.

“Dean,” he began dangerously.

“I’ll let you come tonight, Sam, don’t worry. We’re just flipping the roles a little bit.” Sam glared at Dean over his shoulder, obviously torn between wanting to argue and wanting to get off. “C’mon, Sammy,” Dean said, returning to Sam’s perineum and watching Sam’s eyelids slide closed at his touch, “it’s not like you don’t like it from this end.” It was true that Sam had bottomed for Dean a few times, and every single time Sam came like a freight train, so you would think he’d do it more often. But no – if anything, Sam would make a point of topping the next time, and the time after that, until him riding Dean’s dick was only a distant memory.

It was time for a refresher course.

Using his left hand to still massage Sam’s balls, Dean’s right hand moved up to Sam’s hole, clenched from holding his body still and delaying his orgasm. “C’mon, Sammy,” Dean repeated softly. “Relax for me, baby.” Sam squirmed against his fingers, but remained tense. Dean moved to Sam’s neck, licking away shower droplets, tugging the hair at Sam’s nape with his teeth, trailing kisses along the tendon. Finally, Sam figured out that he wasn’t getting his rocks off until things moved forward; he took a deep breath, and Dean felt the muscles under his fingers soften as Sam exhaled.

Sam gave him another look, the one he always got when he bottomed, a strange combination of nervousness and trust. After a lifetime of fighting tooth and nail with their father for independence, then Yellow Eyes ripping his entire life’s plans to shreds to supplant some fucked up "destiny" for him, to say that Sam had some control issues was an understatement. And yet, he’d hand the reins over to Dean, trust his big brother to determine how and when he got off, just like he trusted Dean to make him dinner and help him with his homework when Dad didn’t come home, like he trusted Dean to have his back when they hunted. It didn’t happen often, and it didn’t happen easy, but it only happened for Dean, and it hit him like a punch in the gut every time Sam gave himself over like that.

So Dean took his time, gently circling Sam’s hole while still kneading Sam’s balls in his other hand, until Sam began pushing himself back on Dean’s fingers. Sam’s quiet gasp as one finger pressed inside told Dean he wasn’t in pain, so, after a few minutes of kissing Sam’s neck while slowly twisting his finger, Dean added a second. It took a bit to remember his way around, since chances to explore Sam like this were few and far between, but that small bundle of nerves were still in the same place, and Sam arching his back and groaning through clenched teeth let Dean know how much he’d missed Dean’s touch.

It was at this point that Dean just couldn’t ignore the water’s plummeting temperature anymore, and even Sam’s shivers couldn’t be entirely attributed to the prostate play. “Get your clothes off and get on the bed,” Dean ordered, his harsh voice contradicted by his fingers slowly, carefully slipping out first. Sam awkwardly climbed out of the tub, his soaked jeans still hanging at mid-thigh, his boots squelching, his dick still bumping along his stomach. He stopped at the threshold and turned to Dean, the beginnings of a smile touching his lips.

“Can we at least switch to real lube now?” he asked.

Dean looked at the bottle of conditioner, then let it clatter to the bottom of the tub.

“Thanks,” and then Sam’s smile stretched into something else, like he was trying not to laugh. Dean looked down at himself. The water had turned him into one gigantic, Dean-shaped prune. “So, that’s what it’s gonna look like when you’re a wrinkled old fart?” Sam asked, staring pointedly at Dean’s dick. “At least I know what I have to look forward to.”

Dean glared at him. “I’ll show you what you have to look forward to, you smart-assed little bitch,” he said, barely holding a smirk back himself. “Now, do as you’re told; it’s way past time for you to be naked!”

“Yes, Dean,” Sam lowered his eyes, then looked at Dean from under dripping wet bangs, somehow giving Dean _that_ look again while smiling – sucker punch, plus dazzling smile, plus _dimples_. Dean actually felt his hard ass expression drop from his face as Sam left. Damn.

Which one of them was in charge here, again?

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic I penned for a friend on Livejournal back in 2014. Just thought I'd add it to my account here.


End file.
